


but you've got your demons and i've got mine

by TheCockyUndead



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ (Outer Banks) Needs a Hug, John B. Routledge Needs a Hug, Shitty Dad Club, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCockyUndead/pseuds/TheCockyUndead
Summary: JJ kept one arm tight around his stomach, as if that would hold him together, as if it would keep the broken and jagged edges of himself glued, but the truth was, he could feel himself slowly coming undone, and it didn’t matter how hard he tried to hold it together, sooner rather than later, it was all going to crumble...Now a series of loosely connected one shots centered around John B and JJ's friendship.
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge
Comments: 30
Kudos: 230





	1. but you've got your demons

**.but you’ve got your demons, and i’ve got mine.**

JJ’s jaw was clenched tight, teeth grinding together. Hot pain had been rapidly spreading throughout his body for the past hour, inching along his skin until every part of him felt like it was on fire. 

The silver moon, high above him, was the only light that JJ had as he carefully picked his way through the tall grass and then the dirt road that led to John B’s. 

He hadn’t really looked at the clock when he had dragged himself out of his bedroom window, but it was sometime past midnight, and with Big John home for the first time in weeks, it was possible that John B was either asleep or with his dad on an adventure somewhere, but JJ’s ribs were throbbing from where his dad had kicked him ( _once, twice, three times)_ and he was already stumbling, legs heavy and unwieldly, barely holding him up. He just wanted to be somewhere _safe_ , preferably with John B so that he could finally sleep.

John B wouldn’t turn him away; he never did.

JJ kept one arm tight around his stomach, as if that would hold him together, as if it would keep the broken and jagged edges of himself glued, but the truth was, he could feel himself slowly coming undone, and it didn’t matter how hard he tried to hold it together, sooner rather than later, it was all going to crumble.

He didn’t know if he wanted John B to be there when it happened, so his friend could help pick up the splintered parts of JJ; he didn’t want John B to cut himself trying to fix something that was unfixable.

JJ hoisted his backpack higher over his uninjured shoulder; it was packed full of random clothes, anything he could find in his messy room, but he just needed enough to spend a few days away from his dad. 

Keeping his eyes pinned to the ground, JJ was careful to watch where he was stepping; he didn’t want to catch his boot on something that would send him face first to the dirt. If he fell, he probably wouldn’t be able to get back up again, and that would make this already shitty night much, much worse.

His eyes were filled with tears of pain, making it hard to really see where he was, but he knew that he was close to the Chateau and when he looked up, the house appeared as if it had been summoned by his thoughts. 

As he trudged closer, he circled around the house, going to John B’s window and pressing his body against the side of the house, breath gasping out of him as if he had been holding it the whole way there.

Maybe he had been. 

With effort, JJ shifted until he could peer inside, and despite the small lamp on John B’s nightstand that was lit, it looked like his friend was fast asleep. But that was okay; he and John B had worked out a system years ago. 

JJ poked his fingers against the bottom of the window, trying to find a grip so he could heave the window open, but after a few attempts without it budging, JJ realized with a small jolt of anxiety that it was locked.

A sudden sharp and brittle anger burned bright in his chest, but quickly disappeared, overtaken by worry clawing its way up his throat; maybe John B forgot about him or maybe he didn’t want JJ to spend the night. JJ squeezed his eyes shut and then inched down so he was crouching next to the house while he tried to think about what to do.

The front door wasn’t an option when Big John was home; it had always been an unspoken rule between the two boys that they wouldn’t involve any adults, even if Big John would probably be okay with the sleepovers that happened practically every night.

It was just that every time JJ even considered telling Big John about Luke Maybank’s tendencies to drink and use his son as a punching bag, his stomach would try to climb up his throat and then he stopped breathing for a little bit. Every time it happened, John B’s eyes would always get huge and he would do a little panic dance, before he remembered that all JJ needed was to be reminded how to breathe again.

It was no big deal, it happened all the time, and after John B calmed down a little, he would take JJ’s hand and put it to his chest, letting him feel how it rose and fell with each breath he took.

It was easier to breathe when John B was around.

In any case, that reaction always stopped the silent _let’s tell my dad_ discussion from even getting started.

But now JJ was stuck outside the house, and he didn’t know what to do. Going home wasn’t an option and it seemed like John B didn’t want him around right now.

That thought sucked the air out of his lungs, and JJ gasped quietly. He pressed his fists into his eyes, hard enough for him to see stars dancing behind his eyelids.

After a moment, he opened his eyes again, hardly able to tell the difference with the dark night pressing in around him, and carefully moved, scooting around so that his back was against the side of the house. The siding dug into his back, sharp and hard, but JJ hardly noticed it. He looked out towards the little chicken coop that the Routledges had built and wondered if he could spend the night with the chickens.

Staring at the silent yard, messy and unkempt, but somehow still comfortable, it occurred to JJ that John B would never lock his window, but Big John didn’t know that; he must have been the one to have locked it, unknowingly keeping JJ out.

JJ stood up, letting out a sharp gasp as blood rushed into his head and he swayed. For a moment, he was sure that he was going to fall face first into the dirt, and would be spending the night outside after all. But it passed quickly, and with more energy than he had had all night, JJ turned to face the window again. He slapped his palm against the gritty glass, making a dull noise, loud in the silence of the night.

He winced and then muffled a groan as he shifted his weight. He brought up his other hand, placing them both against the window and leaning heavily against it. His legs were starting to shake, but he only needed to stand outside for a little longer; he just had to wait for John B to wake up and get the damned window open, and then he could collapse somewhere and he would be just fine.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that John B had heard him and was coming to unlock the window. Fucking Big John. Why’d he have to be home _now_? 

JJ was happy for John B in a sort of muted and bitter way. At least one of them had a semi-responsible parent in the picture, for however long it lasted. It was just hard sometimes, seeing the way that Big John would grasp John B’s shoulders as he pulled him in for an easy hug. The bright smiles on both of their faces made JJ’s stomach clench with jealousy. It looked so simple, so natural: A father hugging his son.

But it wasn’t something that ever happened to JJ, or if it had, it had been when he was too young to properly savor it.

When John B would talk about his dad, face open and eager, hero worship shining through his eyes, JJ was reminded of everything he _didn’t_ have, and he would have to swallow down his anger because it wasn’t John B’s fault and he didn’t deserve to get yelled at for having a better dad than most who lived on the Cut. 

Some days, when his cheek was stinging from Luke Maybank’s knuckles, JJ wanted to shatter that look of worship, rip it right off John B’s face and throw it to the ground. He wanted grab John B and _scream_ , tell him that this wasn’t real—this wasn’t going to last. Big John was going to leave, just like he always did, and John B would be left with nothing once again.

Well, not _nothing_. He would always have JJ and the two of them made up a sort of family. A broken, fucked up family, but still. 

What a pair they made; John B with his absent father, and JJ with his violent one.

JJ opened his eyes, squinting through the window. The small lamp next to John B’s bed was throwing some light into the room, but it was still hard to make out John B buried under the covers, head barely visible against his pillow. 

“John B,” JJ called, trying to keep his voice low, even as his throat ached from the sound scrapping against it. He swallowed convulsively, but it didn’t help; it felt like glass was lodged in it, brittle and painful. 

JJ knocked his hand against the glass of the window again, and this time the lump under the covers shifted and John B’s head appeared, hair sticking up like it was trying to defy gravity. He blinked owlishly at JJ, not quite awake yet.

JJ pressed his forehead against the window and stuck his tongue out. “C’mon, John B, move your ass.” He jerked his chin, twirling his finger in the air in an attempt to indicate the lock, but from the look of confusion painted on John B’s face, it didn’t clear anything up.

For a long moment, JJ wondered if he was going to need to break the glass to make John B understand, but a second later, the confusion on John B’s face disappeared and his eyes sharpened as he finally focused.

Relief washed over JJ like a wave crashing over him as he silently watched John B try to throw off his bedcovers, but a sheet tangled around his ankle, holding him tight as he attempted to stand up. He flailed and stumbled, and then fell onto the floor with a thump.

JJ winced, eyes flicking to the closed door as he waited for Big John to appear, but no one showed, and a second later John B was back on his feet, shooting a dirty look at the blankets that had betrayed him.

He was at the window a beat later, pulling at it with both hands and then frowning when it didn’t move.

His eyes found JJ’s through the glass, sudden guilt and realization shining through them.

JJ shrugged back, dismissing the unspoken apology. He motioned for John B to hurry; he head was pounding, making it hard to see straight, and he didn’t think he could stand for much longer. 

The window latch clicked and then squealed as John B shoved it opened with both hands.

The boys shared a grimace at the noise, pausing as they looked to the door, but when no one came, John B reached a hand out and snagged the front of JJ’s faded red shirt and tugged him forward in a vague attempt to help him inside.

JJ’s stomach caught the edge of the windowsill and he let out a startled yelp and knocked John B’s hand away.

“I got it,” he hissed, clenching his teeth against the sharp pain that shot through him.

With a pained look, John B backed up, giving JJ space, but his hands hovered, outstretched just in case his help was needed.

Luke Maybank had really done a number on JJ, and more than one bruise was scattered across his body, and his usual method of slithering inside wasn’t going to work.

JJ took a breath and carefully began to inch his way through the opening. He bit down on the inside of his cheek as the edge of the window frame found the deep bruises on his ribs.

Using the toe of his boots as leverage, JJ shoved himself forward, leaving himself hanging, halfway in and halfway out of the window. His legs were waving in the air behind him and his backpack was caught between his body and the window, pinning him in place for a panic inducing moment.

“JJ.” John B was suddenly in front of him. “Give me your hands.”

JJ gritted his teeth, and stuck out his hands, grabbing John B’s. A second later, JJ spilled into the room, hitting the floor with a pained grunt.

JJ took a shallow breath, pressing his cheek against the cool wood floor and curling his legs closer to his chest. Maybe he would just sleep here; he didn’t want to move anymore. The trip from his house to the Chateau and been close to hell and he was more than ready to fall into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

“Bro,” John B’s voice was soft. “What do you need?”

Something that felt like _safety_ washed over JJ as he tried to control the shaking that was beginning to dance across his skin.

He trusted John B, more than anyone.

John B never asked about Luke or demanded that the police be called. Instead, he always asked the same thing: What do _you_ need? Let _me_ help.

And that’s all JJ really wanted.

That was the thing about John B; he was JJ’s _person_. The one he could trust with his fucked up life. The one who would always be there for him, ready to fight or to help wipe away the blood.

Most days, JJ thought that all he really needed was John B and the HMS Pogue and he would be set for life. With the addition of Pope and Kiara into their little crew in the last couple of years, that daydream had shifted a little to include them too, but it had always been John B and JJ, and it always would be. 

“I need...some ice,” JJ finally said. He tossed his backpack aside and rolled onto his back, hissing as his bones protested the movement. He tilted his head, catching sight of John B crouched at his side, eyes sharp and serious. 

“What about painkillers?” John B asked.

JJ almost perked up. “Do you have any?”

“I stocked up with some over the counter stuff,” John B said. “It’s the best I could do. Hang on.” He rose and disappeared, leaving JJ alone.

JJ hissed out a breath and tipped his head back, trying to look at John B’s messy bed upside down. He wondered if it was worth the effort to crawl over there and pull himself onto it. His ribs twinged at the thought, and JJ decided he was going to live on the floor under the window from now on. John B wouldn’t mind.

The door creaked open and JJ tensed, eyes snapping to it. John B carefully eased his way inside, arms full, and JJ relaxed again. 

John B padded across the room, bare feet making almost no noise, and then sat down next to JJ, putting the pile onto his lap. He silently handed JJ two ice packs, probably all he had in the freezer. 

JJ took them and contemplated where to put them for a quick beat. Everything hurt, but he placed one on his ribs and the other on his bruised neck. He let out a shocked sigh as the cold slowly seeped into him, chasing away the angry burn of his father’s fists on his flesh.

Eventually, JJ pushed himself up, twisting around to lean against the wall, facing John B. The ice packs slid off him, landing on his lap, but the effort of holding them in place was too much and he let them stay where they had fallen.

He didn’t know where to look, eyes pinballing around the room that was practically his own at this point. He knew every inch of it and had helped put more than one of the dents into the walls.

A sudden, sharp ache flared in his chest and he wished that he _did_ live here. Just him and John B. Pope and Kie too before those two left for the future that awaited them after high school. That would be nice. 

“John B?” he said quietly, eyes drifting down to the ice packs on his lap. He fiddled with them, cold oozing into his fingers.

“Yeah?” John B’s voice was just as quiet.

JJ looked up, studying his friend; John B’s face, normally an open book with all of his emotions on full display for anyone to read, was a blank mask, and JJ suddenly forgot what he was going to say, swallowing the words back down his throat.

“Yeah, JJ?” John B asked again when JJ only blinked at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” JJ joked weakly, reaching a hand up to brush at his cheek.

John B flinched, rocking back as if he was jerking away from a fist, and JJ almost felt bad.

John B ducked his head, too long fringe falling into his eyes as he swallowed, throat bobbing. He carded a hand through his unruly hair and then shoved a clean kitchen towel at JJ.

“Yeah. Blood.”

“Oh—shit. I forgot.” JJ took the towel and pressed it to the shallow cut on his forehead, just under his hairline. It must have been bleeding freely for a while, JJ knew that cuts on the head always bled like a bitch; he was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. He probably looked like a murder victim, which would explain the strained look on John B’s face. 

John B pulled a small white bottle from the pile on his lap and opened it, tapping out two pills and holding them out with a water bottle. “It won’t stop all the pain, but it should take the edge off.”

“I know,” JJ said. He was an old hand at this. He reached for the pills, plucking them up with bloodstained fingers. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I don’t have anything stronger,” John B added, picking at the faded blue bandana tied around his wrist.

JJ shrugged; he wished John B had something better, maybe something illegal, but beggars and choosers or whatever the fuck the saying was. He threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed them with a grimace; his throat felt like it was on fire.

John B held out thick band aids next and waited as JJ applied those to the still bleeding cuts along his arms and then attempted to get the one on his head.

“Let me,” John B finally said, after watching JJ struggle for a few beats. He reached forward and plucked the plaster from JJ’s limp fingers. He got to his knees, and JJ held his breath as John B brushed back his hair, using his other hand to stick the band aid haphazardly against the cut.

JJ winced at the brief pressure, and as he stared at John B’s chest and not at the sadness in his friend’s face, JJ felt a burst of courage. “He, uh, broke a bottle over my head.”

John B breathed in sharply, hands freezing on JJ’s head.

JJ almost regretted speaking up, telling the truth of what had happened, but this was _John B_ he was talking to. John B wouldn’t judge him or ask for more details. He would listen if JJ wanted to talk and not demand anything else. 

“It was probably already cracked,” JJ continued after a brief pause. “The beer bottle, I mean. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d be dealing with a lot worse, headwise.” He gestured vaguely towards his face.

“A concussion, at least,” John B agreed, voice strained. His fingers moved from the cut and began to probe at the rest of JJ’s head, looking for bumps and probably broken glass. “ _Do_ you have a concussion, JJ?”

JJ shrugged. “Hell if I know.” But he did know; he knew all about concussions and what to do if he had one. John B knew too, and trusted JJ to tell the truth and not hide it.

John B finished a second later and removed his hands, sitting back on his hunches. He had schooled his face into something more natural and didn’t look like he was trying to swallow glass anymore; JJ appreciated the effort.

“Do you want the bed?” John B asked, jerking his chin towards it.

JJ eyed it again, mouth twisting. “Not really.”

“Pillows and blankets then?”

JJ’s eyes slid to the hardwood floor and huffed out a breath. “No. No, it’ll hurt more if I sleep on the ground. I guess I’ll take the bed.”

John B nodded and unfolded himself from the ground, standing up. He towered over JJ, looming in a way that made JJ’s traitorous stomach twist in anticipation of a kick.

He reminded himself that this was John B and not his father.

_(stupid, lying boy! i’ll break your fingers if you touch that again! get back here!)_

John B held out his hand, waiting for JJ to grasp it, and JJ did a second later, gripping it tight.

They had to leverage themselves a little to get JJ standing without jostling him too much, but they had a lot of practice and managed it quick enough. Then it was a simple matter of moving across the room and depositing JJ onto the unmade bed.

The soft sheets enveloped JJ as he sank into the mattress and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his mouth.

“Roll onto your back, JJ,” John B said, softly prodding JJ’s back with a loose fist.

JJ shifted until he was staring at the ceiling. His eyes moved to John B, who wasn’t looking at him as he tugged at his feet, unlacing his heavy boots and pulling them off. JJ wiggled his toes as the boots were freed and dumped onto the floor next to his backpack.

Sleep was starting sweep over him, the painkillers doing their job and easing some of the ache along JJ’s skin, and JJ finally felt _safe_ enough that he could close his eyes.

“Light on or off?” John B asked, somewhere above JJ.

“Off...” JJ mumbled, moving onto his side and burrowing his cheek into the pillow.

There was a click of the light and then the bed dipped as John B settled next to JJ. It wasn’t a large bed, but they had been sharing it since they were kids and hadn’t quite graduated to finding a second place for one of them to sleep. And truthfully, JJ didn’t want it to change yet; he liked having the comfort and immediacy of John B right next to him.

“Dude, you’re like the teddy bear I never had,” JJ murmured, a smile inching along his lips.

“...Okay,” John B whispered back. “I don’t know what that means.”

JJ forced his eyes open, blinking John B’s face into focus. They were facing each other, and with one look JJ could see that John B wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon. He felt a swell of guilt that _he_ was the reason for John B’s sleepless night, but the bed was too warm and the pain was fading into a manageable throb that JJ found that he couldn’t care too much.

“I’m saying,” JJ said, forcing his attention back to their conversation, “is that you’re like a teddy bear for a baby. You know?”

John B blinked rapidly, peering at him. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion.” He unfolded one of his hands from where he had them twisted together against his chest and reached towards JJ.

JJ swiped the hand away. “’m fine, dude. Lemme explain.”

John B huffed out a quiet laugh, his blank mask cracking a little. “Okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

JJ licked his lips. “It’s like, when you were a little kid and you got scared of the dark and your mom and dad were sick of you going into their room every night so they got you a stuffed animal, and they told you that it would keep you safe.”

John B offered an encouraging nod. “Sure.” Neither of them had this experience, but had seen it enough in movies and books that it was easy to picture. 

“But then, after a while, you got a little older and knew that the teddy bear was just fabric stuffed with...whatever that soft white stuff is.” JJ squinted. “You know?”

“Stuffing?” John B supplied with a soft frown. “Right? I think it’s just called stuffing.” 

JJ rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re like, well damn, this teddy bear isn’t _shit_. But you still don’t get rid of it because now you’ve gotten used to holding onto it at night and you still feel safe with it.”

“Okay?” John B asked, waiting for more.

But JJ had reached the end of his explanation and he only nodded sagely at John B.

“Hang on,” John B said after a long moment of silence. “Are you saying I’m your discarded teddy bear that you don’t need anymore?” An offended look flashed across his face, and JJ bit off a muffled laugh, reaching forward to pat John B’s cheek with his hand. “Nah, man...well, yes, but I’m always gonna need you. It’s more like you’re...” he trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip, not sure how to complete his thought process; it seemed too complicated to explain with sleep edging into the corners of his mind. 

A look flared over John B’s face too fast for JJ to read, and he was quiet again until before saying, “So basically, you’re saying I’m like a safe place for you?”

“Yeah!” JJ crowed, pleased that John B had finally caught on. “You’re my dude, bro.”

“I think you should sleep, man,” John B said, but he was grinning, bright and open, just like it should be. “Those painkillers are making you loopy.”

“I’m just speaking from the heart,” JJ mumbled, eyes sliding closed.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence enveloped them, and JJ was almost asleep when John B spoke again. “You’re my dude, too, you know that, right?” There was a pause. “JJ?”

JJ didn’t answer or open his eyes, but he reached forward blindly looking for John B’s hand.

He found it a second later, and they clasped hands. 

JJ liked to believe in the healing touch of human contact, especially from the people that he loved, and for a wild moment, he _knew_ that he would be completely fine when he woke up, no bruises or aching bones. It would all be gone.

A whistling sigh came from John B, breaking the silence once more. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” John B said, voice trembling. “You’re my best friend and I can’t—”

“I’m fine. I’m always gonna be fine,” JJ interrupted him with his eyes still closed. “I just...want you to be quiet and hold my hand, dammit.”

John B let out a choke laugh, but his hand tightened around JJ’s.

.

.

John B woke up first, half off the bed because JJ’s arms and legs had taken up most of the limited space; a usual occurrence when they shared the mattress.

In normal circumstances, John B would have shoved him off the bed and started a minor scuffle over control of the pillows.

But this wasn’t normal—or wait, that wasn’t true. A sick, cloying feeling twisted in John B’s stomach.

This had become _too_ normal as the years went by. JJ would show up on his doorstep, bruises littering his body, asking for nothing but a place to sleep, and John B would give it to him without hesitating; it was the least he could do. He wanted to do _more_ , but he didn’t know what to do. He was just a kid for fuck’s sake, and this wasn’t something that he knew how to deal with.

Most days, he felt guilty as hell that he was so inadequate; he was the unofficial leader of their little crew and he was failing miserably at his job if he let any of his friends get hurt.

Apparently failure was a good look on him because JJ was always sporting a cut lip and bruises. 

But he did try, so he figured that counted for something, as pathetic as it was.

John B scooted up on the mattress, raking a hand through his hair as he stared down at his JJ. His friend was lying on his back, completely relaxed with his mouth hanging open slightly. His head was tilted towards John B, giving him a clear view of the damage Luke Maybank had done to him. The purple bruise around JJ’s neck stood out the most, stark and unmistakable.

Unbidden, John B lightly touched his own neck and wondered what he would do if Big John grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against a wall.

A shudder rippled through him and goosebumps appeared along his bare arms. He stared at them and then hurriedly rubbed his skin before wrapping his arms around his stomach in a vague sort of attempt at self-comfort.

He thought back to JJ’s sleep addled comments about Teddy Bears from the night before and sort of got it. Holding something, even if it was just a pillow, was a poor solution for the pain and loneliness, but in a stupid way it helped.

Besides, JJ hadn't really been talking about Teddy Bears or poor coping methods. 

Carefully, John B eased himself off the bed and padded to the door, swinging it open and making his way to the kitchen, intent on getting something to eat for both of them. Hopefully, there was more than just sugary cereal, but John B couldn’t remember the last time he had been grocery shopping and didn’t know what he even had in the cupboards.

He froze, midway into the kitchen and living room, catching sight of another human person standing in the Chateau. It wasn’t that unusual for people, mostly drunken teens, to appear in John B’s house, but that was because they hadn’t left from some party he had hosted the night before.

But the person in the kitchen wasn’t a kid, and for a wild moment, John B thought it was Luke Maybank, coming to reclaim his son. It wasn’t the first time the man had stumbled, completely off his head, into John B’s yard, never quite making it past the doorway, screaming for JJ to come out quick.

The few times that that had happened, John B always felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest, but he never let Luke in, trying his best to talk him down and tell him that JJ wasn’t there, he was fishing or somewhere else—always complete lies, but John B wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t going to let JJ go back to the bastard when he had the opportunity to keep him safe a little while longer.

The figure shifted and then turned, and John B’s breath hissed out slowly; it was just his dad, who he had completely forgotten was home.

“Oh, good morning, Bird,” Big John said, startling a little at the sight of John B standing, frozen, just outside of the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you get up.” He had a bowl in hand. It looked like it was just cheerios and not something with substance. 

“Hey, dad,” John B said and slid further into the kitchen, carefully stepping around his dad to pull out a box mix of pancakes. He put it on the counter and started to hunt for bowls. 

“Pancakes?” Big John said, eyeing the box. He used his fingers to push up his glasses that had slipped down his nose; always a preputial battle. “What’s the occasion?”

John B frowned and tried not to look towards his bedroom where JJ was still sleeping. For a brief second, he wondered how Big John hadn’t heard JJ come in last night. How could he not have heard _anything_? It wasn’t like he and JJ were that quiet. Sometimes, John B wished that his dad spent a little less time with his nose stuck in a book and more time paying attention to his surroundings, more specifically to John B.

But that was just who his dad was, and John B wouldn’t have it any other way. He was luckier than most; he _actually_ had a parent, who was still alive, hadn’t run away, and didn’t beat him. So a win, really. 

John B cleared his throat and tried to go for casual. “I just feel like something a little different today.”

Big John gave him a small smile, apparently not suspecting anything, and put half-eaten cereal bowl into the sink. “Don’t take too long with that. You’ve got school.” He shifted past John B, ruffling his too long hair with one hand as he continued on his way to his study.

John B didn’t bother to explain that it was Saturday and he didn’t have school; he couldn’t expect his dad to remember everything.

He waited for the click of the study door before turning to his pancake mix; Big John would be lost in his treasure hunt for the next few hours and wouldn’t hear a thing. JJ would be able to hang out at the Chateau, pretending that he had just shown up for the day, with no one the wiser.

John B spent two seconds, wondering for the 100th time whether or not he should just cave and tell his dad what was going on with JJ, but he dismissed the thought quickly; JJ didn’t want anyone to know and, really, what would Big John be able to do?

He pushed those thoughts aside, concentrating on getting the pancakes mixed and cooked.

By the time he had a stack piled on a plate, JJ came stumbling out of the hall, rubbing a hand through his bedhead hair, making it worse, if that was possible.

John B eyed him; JJ looked a little better than he had the night before, but that wasn’t hard to achieve. The way the blood had been pouring down his face had him look small and scared, and John B had almost demanded they go to the hospital. Most of the bruises were probably hidden under JJ’s shirt, but the one around his neck had darkened and would only look worse as the day wore on.

“Dude, stop.” JJ yawned and settled himself near the counter, leaning his elbows onto the surface and propping his face onto his hands. “I’m good.”

“Yep,” John B agreed, making his voice as light as he was able. “You look it.”

JJ’s eyes sharpened and his mouth thinned. His back straightened and he looked like he was spoiling for a fight. 

John B winced, but didn’t say anything. Carefully, he nudged the plate of pancakes towards his friend, grabbing syrup and a fork for him too.

JJ stared at the food and then looked at John B apparently trying to decide whether or not he was going to cave and forgive John B so easily. His hunger seemed to win out and he took the plate and gave John B a small grin.

“Pancakes? Since when do you cook?” JJ said through a mouthful of food.

John B grimaced at him. “Close your mouth.” Then he shrugged. “I felt like cheerios weren’t going to cut it.”

“No Fruit Loops?” JJ asked, purposely chomping on the pancakes loudly. He threw John B a shit eating grin, and the weight in John B’s stomach eased just a little.

John B snagged a pancake off JJ’s plate, ignoring the wordless protest from his friend while he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Does it look like we can afford name brand cereal, JJ?” he said thickly through the pancake.

JJ, an expert in John B talk even with a full mouth of food, nodded his agreement.

“Poor as shit,” he said, “can’t afford _shit_.”

They ate in silence for a little while, trying to outdo each other with how much they could cram into their mouths, but that ended when John B started choking.

After the food was gone, they cleaned up the kitchen and headed back to John B’s room.

“You can borrow some clothes,” John B said over his shoulder as they moved through the hall, “and then let’s hit the water.”

JJ groaned, throwing his head back in an exaggerated motion. “I don’t wanna look like a mini John B.”

“Hey,” John B said. “I have a better style than you.”

“Uh, no. Have you even seen your fucking _awful_ shirts? C’mon, dude, bright yellow with pink flowers? It's not a good look.”

“I love that shirt,” John B said, mildly offended as he shoved JJ into his room. He remembered to be gentle at the last second, but JJ still winced, hunching his body as he tried to duck his head to hide the pain.

Guilt ran through John B, hot and fast, as JJ crossed the room to where his boots and backpack lay. Words, an apology, a joke to redirect the silence, pushed at his mouth, trying to get out, but JJ beat him to it, like he always did.

“Lucky for me and the rest of the world, I’ve got my own clothes,” JJ said, acting like nothing had happened; he was a master at it, but John B wasn’t sure he could ever learn it like JJ. Then again, he never had to.

JJ unzipped the backpack and shifted through the mess inside, eventually snagging out relatively clean looking clothes. “Ta Da!”

John B grimaced at him, trying to push aside the discomfort. “Gross.”

JJ made a face and then turned, stripping off his shirt in one quick motion.

John B couldn’t see his face, but he knew that JJ didn’t want to see John B’s reaction to the dark bruises that encircled his torso and back. It was better that way because John B couldn’t stop the horror that flashed across his face, making his mouth twist.

He swallowed roughly, and turned his back on JJ and dressed as quickly as he could, a sick feeling curled in his stomach, making it hard to breathe; they needed to go outside, into the clean air, where things weren’t so stifling with unspoken words. 

The sun was already high, beating down on them as they made their way to the calm water where the HMS Pogue was waiting.

“We’ll pick up Pope and Kie on the way,” John B said as they shoved off from the dock. “I texted them this morning. Pope said something about homework, so we might need to drag him out of his house.”

JJ didn’t answer him and John B threw him a sidelong look as he worked the helm.

JJ had his hands braced against the edge of the Pogue and was staring out into the water. He was silent and motionless, so unlike his usual self, who was always moving, practically vibrating with energy. John B was always begging him to slow down, take a breath, but it almost never worked, and eventually he would be swept up in JJ’s wild energy.

“JJ?” he asked hesitantly, loud enough to be heard over the hum of the engine.

JJ jumped, jerking around to face John B. His eyes were wide and his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. He caught John B’s eye, flushing. He ducked his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Yeah, sounds great,” he mumbled after a pause too long. 

John B frowned slightly. “Do you not want them to come or...?” He squinted at JJ, noting the way JJ’s hands kept darting up to his neck, prodding the bruised skin.

Oh.

John B wasn’t sure how much Pope and Kiara knew about JJ’s dad. Probably more than JJ thought; neither of their friends were stupid and JJ was almost always sporting black and blue bruises. It didn’t matter how many times he insisted he fell off the dock, or John B gave it to him in a wrestling match gone wrong; he couldn’t hide the way he flinched when someone came at him too quickly or when an adult raised their voice.

John B swallowed as he unwound the bandana around his wrist. “Hey, JJ—” He chucked the fabric at JJ’s startled face. “Put that around your neck.”

JJ made a face at the blue cloth clutched in his hand. “Uh...no thanks? We’ll match and then Pope won’t stop making fun of us.”

John B rolled his eyes, and started to yank at his second bandana at his throat. “Here, I’ll take mine off.” 

JJ watched him to do it for a long moment, a strange look on his face, and then waved a hand. “Stop. Keep it on.”

Then, carefully as if it was made from something fragile, JJ tied the blue bandana around his neck, covering most of the bruise. His fingers twitched and he tugged at it for a little longer before moving closer to John B.

In the daylight, with the sun beating down on them, John B could almost forget what had happened the night before, but JJ would never forget, and that made John B _burn_ with a bright anger deep in his chest. 

For a moment, John B imagined what it would be like to cave Luke Maybank’s face in. His knuckles would sting and the skin would break, blood spilling out, but he wouldn’t stop hitting the bastard.

He wouldn’t stop until he was sure that JJ was safe.

“Hey, dude, you’re bleeding.” JJ’s voice broke into John B’s violent thoughts.

John B blinked and then touched a fast finger to his lip; he had bit it too hard, splitting the skin open.

JJ cleared his throat and then shoved John B with his shoulder. “Thanks, dude.”

John B didn’t ask for what. He nodded and tried not to cry.

.

.


	2. would you tell the truth so i don't have to lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note. So this chapter is told in two different timelines. I don't think it's super confusing, but just in case: John B's POV is present and JJ's is the past, until he catches up to where John B is.

**.would you tell the truth, so I don’t have to lie.**

John B hadn’t spoken to JJ in three days, and now, with the golden sun dipping into the horizon, day four was rapidly approaching. 

John B wasn’t really sure what had even happened. All he had done was to ask JJ to help him clean up the Chateau because Big John was coming home for the first time in weeks, and while John B had been practically quivering with excitement, JJ had gotten a weird look on his face. That should have been John B’s first warning, but he had ignored it and a split second later, JJ had gone off at him in a way that he usually reserved for Kooks and very specific people who lived on the Cut.

It had been bewildering and John B hadn’t managed to find his footing because the fight was over moments after it began. Heated words were exchanged and then JJ had screamed something into his face and shoved him hard, pushing him away before storming out of the Chateau.

He hadn’t come back. 

And John B felt empty.

He _missed_ JJ, and didn’t know how to fix this. Okay, yeah—he could just pick up his phone and text JJ or maybe go over to JJ’s house and physically drag him out of his bedroom so that they could talk.

But John B knew from experience that going to JJ’s house wasn’t really an option. Even thinking about it made his cheek throb from where he had gotten hit. Luke Maynard's fist was hard and unexpected and had--John B pushed that thought aside; JJ liked to pretend that it had never happened, and John B was more than willing to follow his lead. 

Instead, he focused on the cup of cheap beer that was growing warm in his gripped hand. He grimaced as he swallowed some, barely tasting it as it slid down his throat.

He was sitting on a log near a large bonfire, pretending that he couldn’t see where JJ was standing, but his eyes kept flicking over to his friend.

JJ had his back to John B and was leaning up against one of the bare and dead trees that littered the Boneyard. He had a white joint pinched in his fingers and was blowing out thin trails of smoke into the air above his head while he talked obnoxiously loud to some kids from their school.

JJ looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. John B knew it was only a front, a mask that he put on for everyone else to see, but even John B couldn’t see past it right now and that _hurt_.

John B’s hand tightened around the red solo cup in his hand as he glared at JJ’s back. His friend was _right there_ , only yards away, and John B was frozen to the log, unable to get off his ass and actually talk to him. Was his pride really that important that he couldn’t make the first move?

Or was it because he was afraid that JJ wouldn’t take him back? Had he somehow lost JJ forever over a stupid fight that he still didn’t really understand?

“What’s going on with you two anyway?” Pope asked, loud enough to be heard over the chatter of voices and the music that someone had started playing. His shoulder brushed against John B’s as he leaned into him, but he was staring at JJ too. 

“Nothing’s going on,” John B said. It came out too harsh, too defensive, and he pressed his lips together as he twisted around to face Pope.

But he kept JJ in view, just in case. 

Pope’s eyes moved from JJ to John B and he blinked impassively. “Uh-huh.”

John B felt a flare of annoyance skitter across his skin, and he dug his shoes into the sand, creating a little hole to stick his feet into. “Talk to JJ. I’m sure he’d be happy to explain.” Now he just sounded petulant, but John B didn’t bother to change his tone. 

“I already did,” Pope said easily. He took a swig of his beer. “He said nothing was going on.”

John B’s teeth clamped together, grinding them for a moment. “Well, there you go.”

Pope chewed on his lip, eyes still flicking between JJ and John B. “You guys are lying, but I don’t know why.”

 _That makes two of us_ , John B thought silently, and without meaning to his eyes drifted back to JJ.

.

.

JJ could hear John B in the other room, talking on the phone, but JJ didn’t bother to eavesdrop; he was more concerned about finding some crackers to go with the peanut butter he had found in the messy kitchen.

A few minutes later and the best he could come up with was some stale saltines that had been buried deep in the back of a cupboard, but it was better than the booze and weed his dad had back at his house. JJ hadn’t been spending too much time there lately and had practically been living with John B. There were perks of Big John’s insane treasure hunt, and some days, JJ secretly wished that Big John would leave and never come back.

A whoop echoed from the hall, startling JJ, and a second later, John B skidded around the corner, a bright grin on his lips. It was almost blinding, and JJ fought against the smile that started to crawl along his own mouth. John B was so damn contagious. It was like his emotions were too big for just one person and they would spill out of him, seeping into JJ or anyone else around him.

Usually JJ didn’t mind; he could always use a little John B sunshine in his life.

JJ waved the bag of saltines at John B, silently asking if it was okay to eat them, but John B was hardly paying attention and he flapped a hand back. JJ took that as a go, and ripped them open. 

“Where’s the fire, John B,” JJ said. He eyed his friend as he munched on a dry cracker. “What’s going on? Did all your wildest dreams come true?” He thought about throwing in a gentle barb about Sarah Cameron finally seeing John B as more than the kid his dad sometimes used to work on their boat (he wasn’t blind, he saw the way John B got all moon faced whenever they happened to cross paths with the Kook Princess), but her name was blacklisted due to Kiara’s feud with her, and even if she wasn’t physically there, Kie would find some way to make JJ pay for it.

“Wildest dreams?” John B squinted at him and then shook his head, confused. “What? No—that was my dad.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, vaguely indicating where he had been talking on the phone. “He’s coming home—finally!”

John B smile stretched and he was almost vibrating with excitement, but a heavy stone was slowly sliding down JJ’s stomach. Resentment flared across JJ’s skin, hot and fast, even though he knew it wasn’t fair. John B deserved to be happy. He deserved to have his dad around. But whenever Big John decided to come home, it meant that JJ was shit outta luck for a place to crash.

Big John’s homecoming meant that JJ was going to lose the easy way he and John B had been living together for the past few weeks.

And. And JJ didn’t want to pretend he was happy; he was too damn tired for that and just couldn’t do it. Not when Luke Maybank’s fists and heavy boots were waiting for him when he left the Chateau.

“JJ?” John B stood in front of him, snapping his fingers inches from JJ’s face. The sound was loud and almost hollow, like a bone cracking. “Can you pick up your shit that’s in the living room? Dad doesn’t need to know what we’ve been up to.” An easy grin danced along John B’s mouth and his eyes glinted with a conspiratorial light, as if he and JJ were sharing some kind of joke.

But JJ felt like _he_ was the joke, and sudden rush of anger spread throughout him, sending tingles down his arms. His black combat boots were frozen against the wood floorboards and his fingers slowly curled into tight fists.

The urge to hit something (Big John or Luke were at the top of his list) pressed against him, tangling his emotions into a tight knot. He could almost picture taking a fistful of Big John’s shirt and punching his bewildered face until blood gushed from his nose and his stupid glasses were broken. The thought of hitting Luke was a little harder to fathom, so JJ focused on John B’s dad, gut clenching with a sick pleasure.

But then, he focused on John B and knew that he couldn’t ever do that. Not to John B. Even if Big John was a dick sometimes.

“Hey.” It was John B again. He had moved into the living room, starting to gather the mess they had made, but he had paused and was staring at JJ, concern deepening on his face. “JJ, are you okay?”

The short answer was _no_. The one JJ gave was a lie. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. “I’m fine. But, I’m not your slave. Pick this shit up on your own, John B!” The words cracked out of him and he hardly sounded like himself.

John B didn’t react as the words landed. Instead, he put down the trash, letting it lie on the pullout couch. His eyebrows slowly drew down, forming a V as he stepped closer to JJ again. He raised his hands, as if JJ was some sort of rabid dog that needed to be calmed down.

JJ’s teeth grinded together and his jaw jumped. His eyes burned, even though his anger wasn’t supposed to be directed at John B. Never John B, and never like this. 

“Okay,” John B said. “I’ll get it done. Do you wanna get something to eat for lunch? I don’t think those peanut butter crackers are going to cut it.”

JJ’s fists tightened; why’d John B have to be so damn reasonable? He wanted to be _angry_ , and John B wasn’t letting him.

He stalked forward, hardly realizing what he was doing until he was in John B’s face, crowding his friend against the edge of the couch.

“I don’t wanna get lunch,” he snarled. “I don’t want to clean this shithole for _your_ dad.” Satisfaction curled along JJ’s skin as John B flinched. “It’s not my fucking job and why should I help when all you’re gonna talk about for weeks is _your_ dad and how much fun the two of you are having!”

“What are you even talking about?” John B snapped back, anger suddenly shining in his brown eyes. JJ felt a thrill of excitement and he grinned, baring his teeth. If this was anyone else they would’ve turned tail and run away, either because they didn’t want to deal with JJ’s shit or because they were terrified of that damn Maybank kid. No one stood up to him like John B.

“I’m talking about how I’m your _buddy_.” He spat the word. “ _I’m_ always right here, but then _your_ dad gets home and it’s like, bye JJ, have fun with your asshole father while I—” He cut himself off, almost taking his tongue off in the process; he was saying too much.

Those unspoken words between them were unspoken for a reason, but for once, the honest truth of Luke Maybank and Big John were pressing against JJ’s mouth. He was aching to finally say them, to admit that he was jealous of John B, even though Big John was a shitty dad too.

“Is that all?” John B said lowly. He was staring, glaring really, at JJ, still waiting for JJ to finish speaking.

But JJ couldn’t. He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but all that came out was a scream. It erupted from him, tearing out of his throat with force. He raised his hands and slammed his palms into John B’s shoulders.

John B stumbled back, almost falling onto the couch, surprise and hurt chasing away the confused anger. He licked his lips and his chest rose and fell rapidly while he stared at JJ.

JJ felt a quick moment of guilt, but he was already leaving, slamming the screen door behind him and stomping over to where he had parked his dirt bike weeks ago.

 _He_ was in control.

He needed to get out of there. He needed to leave before John B could order him out. This way, John B wouldn’t have the opportunity to reach inside JJ and snap his heart in two.

JJ was doing that all on his own.

.

.

John B wasn’t sure if JJ was purposely ignoring him or if he honestly didn’t know that Pope and John B were sitting yards away from him on one of the logs near the bonfire.

It was possible that JJ was off his head. Beer and weed or maybe even something a little stronger could be running through his veins, keeping his eyes from wandering to John B’s hunched form.

John B was trying to see if JJ was sporting any new bruises since he had last seen him, but it was too dark and JJ was wearing a long sleeve shirt that covered his arms. Usually, that wasn’t a good sign, but there was a chill in the evening air, only made colder near the water, so it didn’t really mean anything.

“...and anyway, I told Mr. Lewis that I needed that extra credit, and he said I’d have to have it done by Tuesday.”

John B jerked back into reality and tried to catch back up on the one-sided conversation that Pope was having. A flare of guilt shot through him at ignoring the friend that he still had. He took a swig of his beer and nodded along, pretending like he knew what Pope was talking about, and despite his guilt, his mind kept wondering to JJ and Big John.

His dad was finally home for the first time in weeks and John B was still riding that high of having his dad around again, but it was rapidly fading into a muffled sort of annoyance because things were different this time. Big John was actually paying attention to him, and John B didn’t really know what to do with that. It kind of felt like he was a bug under a microscope, freezing every time Big John looked at him.

Big John was making sure there was food on the table, was enforcing a curfew for the first time since John B was ten, and actually seemed to know the days of the week. He was concerned with John B’s poor grades in history, and having to explain that his history teacher was a dick didn’t really fly with his dad. John B didn’t know what to do with this new and reformed dad, and sort of wished that Big John would leave again. At least then, John B would know his role, and then maybe JJ would be able to come back.

John B didn’t know where JJ was sleeping and had been waiting for the past few days for JJ to show up at his bedroom window, but that hadn’t happened, which of course, made John B think of Luke Maybank and that never ended well.

“Hey,” Pope said mildly, “you’re crushing your cup.”

John B looked down, but it was too late for the plastic cup. It was split down the middle and warm beer was leaking through the cracks and onto his hand. He grimaced and dropped the cup to the sand at his feet, shaking his hand. Droplets of beer swung wide and Pope ducked with a yelp.

“Sorry,” John B said, standing. “I’m gonna get another.”

Pope said something back, but John B was already moving, circling around the log and jogging to where the waves were crashing against the shore; he wanted to wash the beer off his hand first before it dried and was sticky for the rest of the night.

The water washed over his feet, soaking his dirty white converse immediately, but John B hardly noticed as he stooped down to swish his hands into the saltwater.

His back was to the party still going on behind him. It was loud on the beach, but there wasn’t anyone around to chase them away from the Boneyard. That was part of the magic of the place, and usually why bored tourist kids and Kooks gravitated towards the place.

No one could hear the music and bad decisions being made, and John B kind of loved that.

But it also meant that if something went wrong, there was no one around to put a stop to it, and with Pogues and Kooks mixing there was almost always some kind of fight that inevitably broke out. So John B shouldn’t have been surprised when someone kicked his legs out from under him and he fell face first into the water.

.

.

JJ was starving, but he refused to go crawling back to John B on his belly, begging for scraps. Not after what had happened. JJ’s pride was too big and too bruised. He wasn’t going to be the first one to break the ( _awful_ ) silence between them.

So, to combat the hunger that was gnawing at his insides, he shoplifted a few candy bars from a gas station, but, unsurprisingly, they hadn’t been very satisfying, and he didn’t dare go back to try for something a little more substantial. The guy behind the counter had been watching him like a hawk and the only reason JJ had managed to grab the candy was because the guy had been momentarily distracted by another customer. 

His stomach growled, practically clawing him from the inside out, and all he could hear was John B scolding him for being stupid ( _c’mon, man, if you’re gonna steal something, at least go for the protein bars. those will fill your stomach up a little better_ ), but JJ was ignoring his inner John B—John B was dead to him currently, even though that didn’t make any sense. Why should he push away his oldest friend? For what? Because of some jealously that John B couldn’t possibly have understood?

JJ quickly tossed those thoughts out of his head; he didn’t want to think about _why_ he wasn’t going back to the Chateau and John B. 

After the mild disaster at the gas station, JJ had made his way to the Wreck to plead for some free food off Kie, but she hadn’t been working and her dad had chased him away with a few choice words ( _get out of here, Maybank, we’re not a charity—especially not for boys like you_ ). JJ was pretty sure that he hadn’t been meant to hear that last bit, but he had and he could still feel the heat from his cheeks as he had flushed in embarrassment.

He was _sorry_ that his dad hadn’t made something of himself and owned a restaurant that actually made some money. He was so _fucking_ _sorry_ that he was born in the Cut and would probably die there too.

His phone died pretty quickly after he left the Wreck and JJ was too tired to try and see if Pope was home; he didn’t want to run into another parent who thought he was trash. As if he didn’t get that enough.

So. Here he was, standing outside his house, staring at the broken screen door and wondering if his dad was home.

Sweat was dripping down the front of his shirt, soaking it into a patchy V shape, and his backpack was digging into his back, but those things seemed trivial to what might be waiting for him inside the house. There was a good chance that Luke Maybank was at his dealer’s place, too wasted to move, but JJ had never been a fan of taking chances when it came to his father.

With more care than he showed in much of anything, JJ made his way around the house, picking his feet over car parts and other discarded materials that had amassed in the scraggly yard.

His window was open a bit, just as he had left it, which meant that Luke hadn’t come into his room to shut it after JJ took off weeks ago. Or at least, that’s what JJ _hoped_ it meant; he hadn’t been back in a long time, too busy soaking up the freedom at the Chateau to even think about going back to Luke Maybank’s house.

He stuck his fingers into the gap and eased the window open wider. He was forcibly reminded of doing this exact thing at John B’s window countless times before, but he shook his head, determined to keep those _useless_ thoughts out. He needed to be on high alert; Luke could be lurking around the corner and JJ didn’t want be seen sneaking into the house.

With the window open wide enough for him to fit, JJ threw his backpack in first and then slithered in after it. 

His room was a mess, but he was pretty sure that nothing had been touched since he had left, which was a good sign, and his heart slowed just a little.

He cocked his head to the side, trying to listen for Luke, but it was silent outside his closed door. Generally, his dad liked to blare music while he worked at the kitchen table or when he drank on the couch or when he got high—basically, Luke played music all the time. So loud that JJ could hardly hear his own thoughts banging around in his head, but that was probably the point. JJ figured Luke didn’t like what was going on inside his own head any more than JJ liked the result of it.

Mostly satisfied that he was alone, JJ quickly stripped out of his clothes, letting them fall in a crumbled pile on the floor before crossing to his dresser where he pulled out a clean pair of pants and a red t-shirt.

Dressed and feeling cleaner than he had in days, despite not having taken a shower, JJ took a shallow breath and moved to his door. He grasped the round doorknob and slowly twisted it, pulling the door open just enough for him to peer through the crack.

There wasn’t anything outside his bedroom, but that didn’t mean much and JJ was quiet as he opened the door wider and placed a careful boot on the threshold of his room.

He hadn’t dared take his boots off, knowing that if he had to make a quick escape he wouldn’t be barefoot or sporting dirty socks. It had happened before, but those times he had had John B, who had given him a spare pair of shoes to use until JJ could go back to his house.

That wasn’t an option right now, so his heavy boots stayed on.

The hallway that led to the kitchen was JJ’s biggest obstacle; the wooden floor were scattered with creaky boards, making it difficult for JJ to sneak anywhere.

The key word was _difficult_ , not impossible, and JJ had lots of practice of sneaking out of his room to get a glass of water from the kitchen sink, or needing to make a quick stop in the bathroom. But one wrong step and he was fucked.

That was the thought that was always dancing in the back of his mind, a constant presence that bled into every choice he made. He knew, in this instance, that if he wasn’t careful, he would end up back in his room, his door locked from the outside with an imprint of Luke’s fist on his cheek.

The minefield of the hallway gave way to the kitchen and a trickle of relief slid down JJ’s spine. He had made it without incident, and if luck was on his side, he might be able to find something other than stale bread in the dusty and paint-chipped cabinets.

Luck was not on his side.

JJ had just opened the first cupboard when a door slammed somewhere in the house. The sound from it seemed to vibrate through his bones and froze his boots to the dirty tile floor. Heavy feet stomped through the house and then abruptly stopped, and without looking, JJ knew that Luke Maybank was standing behind him; he could feel the weight of his father’s eyes boring into his back, making his spine stiffen and his insides squirm. 

The air in his mouth was solid and heavy, and for a moment, JJ forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t _move_ , his muscles were seizing and twitching as he tried to make himself to do something other than stand there like an idiot with his hand halfway in the empty space of the cupboard.

“Boy?”

JJ trembled and squeezed his eyes shut.

“When’d you get here?”

JJ couldn’t hear any slur in the words, but his dad was a master at deception; there was a reason JJ was still in Luke’s custody and not placed with a foster family after the many visits the DCS had made to the house.

There was an impatient sigh behind him and then a hand was on his shoulder, twisting him around. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”

JJ cringed at the harsh tone and let out a soft gasp as his lower back hit the edge of the counter, but then Luke was in his face, grabbing a fistful of JJ’s red shirt and tugging him close.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yessir,” JJ mumbled and then shook his head, pinning his eyes to the front of Luke’s unbuttoned shirt. “I just got home. I was staying with John B.” He wasn’t sure why his dad was even asking; he had never cared where JJ was sleeping or if he was eating.

Luke let go of JJ, who immediately felt like jelly against the counter. “Big John’s back.”

JJ’s lips twisted, he was painfully aware of _that_.

Luke’s hand was suddenly gripping JJ’s chin, tilting his head up until JJ was forced to look his dad in the eye. “I said look me in the eye, boy!”

JJ’s teeth clenched and his jaw jumped under Luke’s meaty fingers, but he shifted his eyes from Luke’s shirt to his face. His stomach dropped when he noted the dull look glistening in his dad’s eyes, a sure sign that either he had been drinking or on some kind of drug. There was a sheen of sweat on Luke’s skin and his breath, hot and thick, was sour on JJ’s tongue.

JJ’s heart jumped against his ribcage and his arms trembled against his will; he knew exactly where this was leading.

Tension rippled across his body as he tried to remain calm, but that was easier said than done and his chest rose and fell with short little gasps of breath. He just wanted this to be _over_ and it hadn’t even started yet.

( _JJ...don’t provoke him_ ) JJ ignored the John B in his head, and opened his mouth, twisting it into a cocky half grin. 

He didn’t remember what he said, some shit about how all the food in the house was only fit for dogs, and then Luke’s fist was smashing in JJ’s face, knocking him to the side. The counter bit into his side as he fell against it and he let out a sharp yelp, but he wasn’t given any time to recover because a second later Luke jerked him upright by the front of his red shirt, which tore, splitting down the middle and leaving JJ’s chest exposed.

JJ tried in vain to tug the split ends of the shirt together, though he didn’t know why he bothered; it was done for—broken, just like him.

Luke made a disgusted sound deep in the back of his throat and then gripped JJ by his shoulders so that he could throw him to the floor.

JJ hit the ground heavily and he groaned as he pressed his cheek into the gritty floor.

“What’d you say to me?” Luke roared above him and a moment later his boot made contact with JJ’s side. His skin exploded in pain and his ribs moaned as JJ’s huffed out a breath of air and curled into a half-moon shape from the force of it. He tried to make himself small, like a misshaped ball, but it didn’t matter; Luke was kicking every inch of him that he could.

JJ could taste blood on his tongue from where he had cut the inside of his mouth with his teeth. He focused on the bitter and metallic taste of his own blood, instead of Luke’s distorted yelling above him and the heavy kicks from Luke’s work boots.

( _take a breath_ )It was John B’s voice again, but this time JJ didn’t push it away; he clung to it like a lifeline and quietly wished that he had never left the Chateau. ( _it’s going to be okay. just hold on and breathe_ )

If John B had been there, actually saying this, JJ probably would’ve said something sarcastic about how hard it was to breathe when someone was hitting him in the stomach, but John B wasn’t there—thank God. JJ didn’t know what he would do if John B showed up again. The last few times it had happened were bad enough and he wasn’t strong enough to protect John B, as well as himself, from his dad.

Scratch that. He couldn’t even protect _himself_ from his dad.

A haze of pain took hold of JJ’s mind, tossing almost all other thoughts out. All except one: He fucking _missed_ John B.

.

.

The water was freezing. It washed over John B as he lay sprawled in the ebbing and flowing water. It was a shock to his system, knocking him into complete awareness of his surroundings, like how he should have been from the start.

He had been stupid for letting his guard down, even if it was in a place like Boneyard, which was in the Cut and should have been safe. He should have realized that nowhere was safe for someone like him, not when the island ran on the money of Kooks. 

“Whoops. Sorry, John B, didn’t see you there.” Of course it was Rafe Cameron. He didn’t even know the guy very well, only interacting with him in passing, but it was hard to _not_ know about him or his family. It wasn’t just because John B worked on and off for the Camerons; everyone knew who they were. The Camerons poured more money into the island than any other Kook family, practically making them royalty.

“You okay down there, John B?” Rafe’s voice grated at John B’s ears, high pitched and full of hard laughter. John B grimaced into the water.

Word along the Cut was that Rafe Cameron was insane. There was never a reason for the statement to be true, but John B didn’t need one. As far as he was concerned, Rafe could kill him and probably get away with it.

Shivering, John B started to pull himself up, using his hands to push himself out of the water, but he didn’t get very far before a foot dug into his side and shoved him down again.

“Oh, man, my bad!” Rafe was laughing, practically giggling. 

John B’s temper sparked, hot and sharp as it danced along the lines of his skin. He _probably_ would have let this whole thing go if they had just knocked him down once, had a little laugh, and then left him alone, but they were looking for a Pogue to humiliate and John B didn’t intend to be that Pogue. At least not without punching one of them in face.

He licked the salt off his lips, and tightened his hands into fists in the water. His knuckles pinched tight, turning white as his skin pulled against the bones in his hand.

The truth was, he was itching for a fight, had been since JJ left, and now he had an excuse to finally break a few noses. 

Kooks traveled in packs, but John B was relatively sure he would be fine.

Until he managed to get up and finally faced them.

“Oh shit,” John B mumbled, looking at the five Kooks through the water streaming down his face from his soaked hair. So maybe a fight wasn’t the best idea. A part of him, the part that liked his bones to remain unbroken, rejoiced. The other part, growled and begged to be let loose anyway. 

The Kooks leered at him, their artificially whitened teeth gleaming at him from the faint light of the moon above. They had formed a semi-circle around him, blocking his escape back to the fire and the rest of the Pogues. 

John B could see over Rafe’s shoulder to where Pope was sitting at the fire, but he knew he couldn’t count on Pope to come to his rescue. In fact, he’d rather Pope stay exactly where he was. He didn’t want Pope involved. Pope wasn’t like John B or JJ and couldn’t brawl like they could; he cared a little too much. About what, John B wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that he and JJ didn’t give a shit about themselves, not in the way that they were supposed to. Sure, John B _cared_ if some Kook broke his nose, but in the end, he’d rather get in his own hits instead of sitting on the sidelines.

Pope was the person in their crew who yelled at JJ and John B when they were being stupid and reckless, usually backed up by Keira. In a word, he was their common sense, the only bit they had.

Thinking of Pope made the burning anger in his chest lose a little of its glow and John B reluctantly let it cool.

“Alright,” John B said, swiping a hand down his face to chase the water away. “You’ve all had your fun.” He stepped forward, intending to elbow his way through the circle, but one of the Kooks shoved him back.

John B stumbled, splashing water up in a spray as the waves crashed into the back of his legs. He gritted his teeth and threw a glare at Rafe as his anger roared again—so much for listening to his inner Pope.

“Tell your boys that I’m not looking for a fight.” That was such a lie; John B wanted to fight so _fucking bad_. His hands were trembling from how much he wanted to fight, despite the poor odds. “I’m just here to have a good time with my friends.”

Rafe’s eyebrows rose up into twin peaks of mock surprise. “Who said anything about fighting? We just wanted to enjoy the view and drink some of my dad’s whiskey.”

John B’s eyes flicked down to the silver flask clasped in Rafe’s hand and then back up to his face. He jerked his chin and cracked a grin. “Got any to spare?”

“Hell no,” Rafe said and slipped the flask into his pocket, hiding it from view. 

“Not enough to share?” John B said, dipping his chin into a knowing nod. “I understand.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed and his fingers twitched at his sides. “No. We have plenty. It’s too good to waste on a Pogue like you.”

“Cool. So if I got a different Pogue, like JJ, you’d be fine with him having some?” John B didn’t know why he was running his mouth like this.

(He knew why)

“That Maybank kid?” Rafe said, throwing a look over his shoulder. He sneered. “He’s a bigger fuckup than you. At least you look like you shower every now and then.”

The fire in John B’s chest started to burn in earnest, sending shudders down his arms. He swallowed, trying to push back against the anger; if he started something, he wasn’t going to win.

(Did he even want to win?) 

Rafe was eyeing him, delight dancing in his eyes; he knew that he had touched a nerve. “You should hear the things I’ve heard about Maybank. The rumors, even at my school—well, they’re not for polite company.”

One of Kooks snorted, ducking his head. John B whipped his gaze to him, glaring hard. 

“Good thing this isn’t polite company,” John B said, pinning his eyes back onto Rafe. He _hated_ that he was curious; he didn’t want to know what the Kooks thought about JJ, it didn’t matter what these rich pricks said, it wouldn’t change who JJ was to him.

Rafe shrugged and leaned towards John B, ushering his friends forward with his hands. They tightened their circle, making John B’s stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Well, it usually starts with the dad, Luke Maybank.” John B pressed his mouth together; Luke could go fuck himself. “He’s a washed up drunk that...” Rafe trailed off and paused. His lips pulled back over his teeth into a grin. “Well, I’ve heard that Maybank is so out of his mind that he beats Maybank Jr.” 

John B felt his chest freeze, staring at Rafe. Whatever he thought Rafe was going to say, it wasn’t that. As he looked at Rafe, he could see clearly on the other boy’s face that he believed the rumors and just didn’t give a shit.

For a quick beat, John B wondered how the rumor got started; it was supposed to be a secret. _No one_ was supposed to know. Panic tickled the back of his mind, but he didn’t have time for that; he and JJ would deal with the rumors later, _now_ was the time for action.

“Hey, Rafe,” John B said easily, forcing himself to focus on the present. Rafe had moved close to John B, standing almost chest to chest with him, probably to get a good look at John B’s face after he told him about JJ, but it was a mistake. One that John B fully intended to exploit. 

“Yeah?” Rafe said, smile still plastered on his lips. Did he really think he was that untouchable? Dick.

“JJ says fuck you,” John B said and then smashed the top of his head forward, snapping it into Rafe’s nose.

Rafe let out a yelp and stumbled backwards, falling onto his ass in the wet sand. His nose gushed blood, pouring out of the nostrils and staining his mouth red.

John B let out a wild laugh, loud in the brief moment of shock from the others. He stood over Rafe, blood rushing through his veins. Adrenaline pumped through his body and made his skin burn. He stooped over Rafe as he threw him a one fingered salute. “Fuck you from me too.”

It was a moment that John B wished he could have savored for longer, but then the other Kooks remembered that they had fists too. 

.

.

After it was all over, JJ had exchanged his torn red shirt for a long sleeved dark one. It hid the bruises that had blossomed on his ribs and arms from Luke’s boots. The last thing JJ needed was for someone to see them and demand answers, not that it had ever really happened before, but it would be just his luck that someone would take a look at him and suddenly _care_.

But deep down, he knew that he really just didn’t want John B to see them.

When he had cleaned up the blood from his skin, he sat on his unmade bed in his new shirt and waited for Luke to pass out on the couch. It took hours and it gave JJ too much time sitting in his little room thinking about why he should never come home.

He was practically swimming in the bitter and harsh snapshot memories of his dad’s greatest hits. They wouldn’t stop bouncing around in his skull, jeering and laughing at him.

He pressed his hands to his head, fingers curling into strands of his hair. He tugged at them as he tried to force the memories away.

He never should’ve left John B or the Chateau.

Was he really that stupid that he forgot what it was like when he went home?

Maybe. Maybe, he was stupid, but he hadn’t forgotten, not really. He had just run out of options. Now he wouldn’t forget again, not when the lesson had been gone over and over again, sinking deep into the grooves of his skin and bones.

His dad was asleep, and JJ wasn’t going to stay in the house for a minute longer. He still didn’t know where he was going to go, but he knew that he couldn’t stay here. Most weekends, even during the school year, someone threw a party in the Boneyard. It was just an excuse to get drunk away from prying eyes, but JJ would be welcomed with open arms, and he could spend the night in the sand, listening to the ocean, until he figured out his next move.

Before he left, JJ made sure that his faded black backpack was filled with enough weed to make some new friends and then he quietly left the house and didn’t look back.

The Boneyard was safe. It was a place where he could drink and relax, and just _be_ for a little while, but JJ knew it was a mistake as soon as he stepped onto the sand. He could _feel_ John B’s eyes on him as he entered the tangled limbs of dead trees that encircled the Boneyard. It was like they were connected by some invisible string because JJ knew exactly where John B was without even having to look.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, frozen in his indecision. His legs twitched and his boots started to sink into the sand as he tugged his ball cap lower on his head. Someone jabbed their elbow into his back and muttered a half-assed apology, but the annoyance in their voice was clear. He was standing in the way of people who had come to forget their week in a haze of alcohol and bad decisions. Really, it’s what he wanted too, but John B’s presence had fucked that all up.

Abruptly, all he wanted was to push his way through the partygoers, shove them if necessary, and find John B so he could ask for forgiveness.

Or maybe, instead, he would punch John B, crack his knuckles against John B’s sharp cheekbones, and then pretend like nothing happened between them so they could be friends again. That option seemed better, it fit who they were better, but JJ’s stomach churned at the thought of hitting his best friend so soon after his dad had beat the shit out of him.

Luke always ignited a fire deep in JJ’s chest, making him angry and violent and difficult to be around. He would go out looking for a fight with anyone—everyone—who crossed his path.

He needed to be in control. _He_ needed to be the one throwing the punches. But it always got out of hand. His blood would be singing in his ears, begging for _moremoremore_ , and if John B wasn’t there, JJ probably wouldn’t stop.

But John B was always there, refusing to leave his side and stopping him before he did something he would regret. 

The problem was that John B wasn’t talking to him right now and JJ wasn’t sure what he would do if he came face to face with John B. Would John B take the place of all those nameless people JJ decided to smash his fists into or would JJ be able to rein in that rage? He didn’t want to do anything to John B despite all the hurt and anger that was still thrumming through him after leaving the Chateau.

What scared him the most was that he was more than capable of it (more than capable of becoming Luke).

So, JJ ignored John B, whose eyes burned imprints into his bruised skin while he sauntered deeper into the Boneyard and found a tree where a huddle of Pogues were smoking.

JJ eyed the white smoke from the joints pinched between their fingers as it curled above their heads and wound itself among the broken limbs of the tree. From the smell alone, he knew that he had just found a place to hang out for the evening, and with a little generosity on his part, they would let him stay and he wouldn’t feel the urge to hit anyone. 

They watched him as he pushed his way into their group in silence. They parted, opening their little circle for him without saying a word. He planted himself in the middle of them, cracking a grin and giving them a lazy salute with his free hand. He didn’t know any of them well, but the island was too small to not have run into each other once or twice, and from the looks they were giving him, they knew exactly who JJ was. He tried to let their judgement roll off his shoulders, but even on the Cut there was a food chain and he was at the very bottom of it.

Swallowing down his resentment, JJ slowly slung his backpack off his shoulder and opened it, flashing the plastic bag full of weed at them. It was nestled on top of some clothes that JJ had shoved into his bag before leaving Luke’s house. He didn’t intend to go back there for a long time.

“Maybank coming in for the win,” one of them murmured, while the others showed their appreciation by giving him sloppy grins and slaps on the back that JJ shied away from. They were too stoned to notice his flinches, and JJ was pathetically grateful for it, only too glad to keep them in their fog of obliviousness.

JJ shared the stolen weed among them, but hours later and he had hardly touched the joint he rolled for himself. All night he had felt John B’s dark eyes on him. They were _still_ on him, making him shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. He just couldn’t relax knowing that John B was out there and not coming to talk to him. _Damn John B_.

JJ rolled his tense shoulders, flicking the joint in his hand and sending a twirl of ash to the sand. He nodded along to some rambling story that one of the group was telling, but he had stopped listening minutes ago; thoughts stuck on a loop. He wondered if he should go over to the bonfire where John B was sitting with Pope and try to make up, but he dismissed the thought quickly; John B had working legs, _he_ could get up and come over if he wanted JJ around again.

 _That_ thought burst through JJ’s throbbing pain and cloud of anger. He hadn’t even considered that John B might be done with JJ’s shit and not want JJ around anymore. He hadn’t even _thought_ that maybe John B wasn’t being stubborn and just didn’t want to be friends with JJ anymore.

He spent a brief moment trying to imagine his life without John B in it, and realized that if he and John B weren’t friends, then it meant he wouldn’t friends with Pope or Kie either, and the hole in his heart widened just a little. In one stupid move, he might’ve lost everyone he cared about. He huffed out a hard breath, fingers crushing the joint in his hand. 

John B was the reason that Pope and Kie were even part of their crew; JJ hadn’t wanted them around at first, but then he had gotten to know them and he loved them as much as he loved John B. The problem was that John B was the glue that held them together, and with JJ was gone, he doubted any of them would really miss him. He was too loud, too brash, and too fucking reckless. Kie was always rolling her eyes at him and Pope looked at JJ like he was being stupid on purpose. They didn't care about him, not like he cared about them. 

Right?

Jagged pain, that had nothing to do with Luke’s boots, crawled its way up JJ’s throat, and he let out a hard laugh, throwing his head back and howling to the dark sky. His rough laughter was almost lost in the heavy music and buzz of voices around them, but his new friends blinked mildly at him, eyes hazy. They didn’t ask him to leave like any other normal person would have; they were too stoned to really give a shit.

The laughter died in his mouth and he abruptly cut it off. JJ pressed a hand to his chest and wondered what would happen if he just tore his heart out right there on the beach and chucked it into the water. It clearly wasn’t doing him any good and he would be better off without it.

He curled the hand on his chest, digging his blunt nails into the skin under the soft fabric of his shirt, and he winced at the slight pressure. He blinked rapidly, trying to pull himself together.

If John B was done with him...well, JJ would deal with that later. _Deny, deny, deny._ Deny everything until it exploded in his face.

After a beat or two of trying to pretend he wasn’t slowly losing it, JJ threw a look over his shoulder to where John B and Pope were sitting.

The flames from the bonfire were high, coughing up sparks that looked like fireflies into the sky. JJ squinted through the flames, trying to pick out John B and Pope sitting on the logs that were laid out along the fire pit.

But John B wasn’t there anymore.

Neither was Pope. They were both gone and their sudden absence hit JJ in the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Did they leave or had they just gotten up for more beer?

JJ’s eyes were frozen on the flickering fire as his mind raced through different possibilities. It all come back to the same conclusion: _John B was gone_ and maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe this was the last time JJ would see him in a long time and JJ didn’t know if he could take that— 

“FIGHT!”

The scream was loud to be heard over the thumping music and tore through JJ’s panicked thoughts, cutting them in two. He jerked his whole body around, vibrating with a sudden energy as he realized that a crowd of people were at the edge of the water where a scuffle was taking place.

JJ couldn’t make out any faces, but he knew with a certainty that gripped him tight, that John B was in the middle of it.

After that, he didn’t think. 

.

.

John B couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Those fucking Kooks didn’t know what it meant to fight fair and had gone after him at the same time, tossing him back into the water and smashing their canvas shoes into his ribs.

With the cold water washing over him once again, making his skin tingle, all John B could think about was the fact that he was completely alone.

He missed JJ.

“You fucking moron!” Rafe yelled from above him, voice strangely distorted. “What did you think was going to happen?”

This—John B expected _this_ to happen. He had been asking for it, begging really, and it didn’t even matter that there were five of them and only one of him. His blood was running fast and hot through his veins, making it seem like the hard kicks aimed at his side were nothing more than little love taps, but even if he couldn’t really feel the pain that was sure to come later, he _did_ know that if he didn’t get up, he would be in serious trouble.

A wave crashed into him. It had lost most of its power by the time it reached the shore, but John B still managed to swallow some of the water. He gagged and tried to hack it back up, but it was hard to get the job done when was still lying face first in the flowing saltwater, and for a moment, John B panicked; he couldn’t breathe.

The kicks stopped suddenly. 

“Dude, he’s choking.”

“We barely touched him!”

With trembling arms, John B heaved himself up so that he was on all fours. He sucked in a mouthful of air, and grimaced as it burned his lungs, but even the brief moment of clean air couldn’t stop the coughs that were wracking his body, and he spent the next few seconds trying to control his breathing.

He must have gotten some of the saltwater down the wrong pipe; it had happened before and wasn’t a cause for concern, but panic still edged along the ridges of his skin.

His throat was raw and on fire, but he wasn’t going to be given any more time to pull himself together. So, he carefully pushed himself up to face the Kooks again. He swayed and threw his arms out to catch his balance as he swallowed convulsively to get rid of the saltwater taste that coated his tongue. He eyed the Kooks through the fringe of his dark hair. They had backed up to give him some space, and one of them even looked concerned.

John B figured he should probably count himself lucky they weren’t totally drunk off the cheap beer that had been flowing from the keg near the bonfire. If they had been, this would be a very different story and he would be still be lying in the water, choking to death.

The respite didn’t last long and a second later, Rafe was back in John B’s face, lips pulled back in a grimace as he threw a wild fist at him. 

John B’s head snapped to the side as the punch vibrated through his skull, making the ringing in his ears increase for a quick moment. 

Behind the Kooks there was a collective _ooh_ , and John B became aware of the audience that had gathered. He squinted at them, but the crowd was backlit by the bonfire and he couldn’t make out any faces. He hoped Pope knew better and stayed out of this, but for being the smartest person he knew, Pope could be stupid sometimes and it would just be his luck if Pope decided to be a hero. 

“John B!” It was as if Pope was summoned by his too loud thoughts. 

“Stay out of this, Pope!” he shouted in the general direction of his friend. “I’ve got it under control.”

It was a little ironic that Rafe chose that moment to hit him again, but John B had given him an opening when he gave Pope the distracted order.

John B’s teeth caught the soft part of the inside of his cheek, splitting it open. Blood filled his mouth, mixing with the saltwater that already lined his tongue. He grimaced at the taste and shook his head as if that would help clear it, before spitting a glob of blood to the sand. It was washed away before it had a chance to seep into the fine grains at his feet.

Somewhere in the crowd someone suddenly screamed, “FIGHT!” But John B hardly thought that was news anymore.

“Fucking Pogue.” The other Kooks were getting restless now that Rafe had decided that John B wasn’t, in fact, dying.

“I think you forgot _dirty_ fucking Pogue,” John B sneered at them. He flashed his bloodstained teeth, and spent a brief moment wondering when he had become JJ, who ran his mouth without thinking about the consequences. “But at least I’m not a psychopath.”

The Kooks exchanged looks and then all looked at Rafe, whose face turned a splotchy red in the moonlight as he glared at John B. Apparently, the rumors weren’t just on John B’s side of the island, and if the Kooks’ reaction was anything to go by, then they probably weren’t just rumors. 

“Hold him,” Rafe snapped, and to John B’s complete and utter lack of surprise, two of the Kooks did as Rafe commanded without hesitation. 

He struggled in their tight grip, throwing his head back and kicking out his legs, but they were stronger than he was—probably from eating three full meals a day, lucky bastards—and didn’t let go of him.

A low buzz of anger swept through their audience; they might not have come to John B’s aid, but they didn’t like that the fight was quickly spiraling into an unfair beating.

Rafe’s hard fist slammed into John B’s gut, and he would have doubled over if the Kooks weren’t holding him upright.

Three more punches hit John B’s face in quick succession hardly giving him a chance to take a breath and then Rafe leaned in close, breath sour from the top shelf whiskey he had been bragging about. For a moment, he studied John B and disgust flickered across his face.

“You Pogues,” Rafe said lowly, “you’re all the same.” He reached forward and gripped John B’s chin between his fingers, tilting his bruised face up. “All you’re good for is licking the dirt off my shoes.” He let go and stepped back, holding up his foot with a sudden laugh. “Get on your knees, John B. Clean my shoes.”

“Rafe...” One of the Kooks holding John B seemed to sense that this was getting out of hand. Good for him, but he didn’t let go of John B.

At this point, John B was pretty resigned to getting the shit kicked out of him until he couldn’t see straight, but then maybe when he woke up this would all be over and—

But then, JJ was there. 

And everything was okay.

Well, not really. His body was still throbbing and Rafe was still standing in front of him with a toothy grin. But JJ was _here_ , a ball of limbs and barely contained rage, hurtling himself towards the unsuspecting Kooks.

John B’s head hurt like a bitch and the skin on his cheek was cracked open, but for the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe again.

“Hey, Rafe,” he said with a grin. His lips split at the movement and more blood spilled down his chin in a thick line, but he hardly noticed as he let out a harsh laugh. “You’re fucked now.”

.

.

The fight ended in quickly after JJ got involved, and honestly, JJ didn’t blame the Kooks for taking one look at him and turning tail and running away.

The only one of them that wanted to stay and fight was that Rafe Cameron dick, but he was pulled away by his friends. Lucky for him. JJ was ready to rip his face off when he got a glimpse of what he had done to John B, but Pope convinced him to take John B home instead of going after Rafe like he wanted to. 

“Hold still,” JJ said as John B twitched under his fingers. He wasn’t as experienced at this as John B was, but he had had _some_ practice patching himself before John B had taken over. 

John B was sitting on the lumpy couch back at the Chateau and his head was tilted up, presenting his spilt cheek to JJ, but he kept trying to lift his fingers up to prod at the rest of his face to check the damage Rafe had done.

JJ careful wiped a wet washcloth across John B’s skin, washing away the dried blood so that he could see what he was dealing with. He paused and eyed the split skin critically. Without all the blood smeared across it, it wasn’t too bad and wouldn’t need stitches, which was a very good thing; JJ didn’t know how to do that without causing more damage and the hospital wasn’t an option. 

“Stop wiggling, John B,” JJ said as he pasted a bandaid across John B’s cheek. “It’s like you’re five.”

John B snorted. “You would know.”

JJ’s first instinct should’ve been to laugh, but his chest suddenly ached and he went dizzy for a second. He had thought that he had lost _this_. Maybe it was stupid, but JJ had thought that he and John B were done, that their friendship was destroyed over something so small. Just this morning, when his dad was kicking him over and over again, it had hurt more than it had in a while because JJ had thought that he wouldn’t have anywhere to go when it was over. In his head, it was like he had taken gasoline and a match to his friendship with John B, and the only thing that was left was a smothering pile of ash. 

“Hey.” John B pushed JJ’s hand away from his face and gave him a concerned look. “What’s the matter?”

JJ took a small step back and shook his head. His breath was starting to come out in short bursts and dark spots were teeming at the edge of his vision. He blinked hard, chasing away the panic. “Nothing.”

John B’s eyes narrowed. “Dude. You’re a terrible liar.”

JJ wasn’t. John B just saw through all the bullshit.

JJ turned away and wrapped his arms around his stomach; he couldn’t face John B when he felt like this. He felt like he was some kind of black hole, sucking everything up and churning it into a pulp, before spitting it out into the dirt. He didn't want John B to be pulled into his shit. He didn't want to ruin John B with his anger and loneliness. 

“JJ..?” John B’s voice was soft and JJ could feel his friend hovering at his shoulder, unsure if he should try and touch JJ. “Tell me what’s going on.”

JJ chewed on his bottom lip. He had no idea where to even begin. This wasn’t even just about the stupid argument between them anymore, this was about who JJ was. He had let jealously and resentment get the better of him and had almost destroyed the only good thing in his life.

“If this is about before, when I asked you to help clean up the Chateau, I’m sorry!” Desperation clung to John B’s voice. “I didn’t see what was going on with you, and I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten out of my head and actually looked—”

“Dude. Stop,” JJ finally said, choking on the words. He swiped a hand down his face, pretending to be surprised at the tears that were sliding down his cheeks. He scrubbed at his eyes a little harder before turning to face John B again. “It’s not that.”

John B’s studied him, and JJ knew that he could see the redness that rimmed his eyes and the damp stains on his cheeks that hadn’t been wiped dry by JJ’s palms. But John B didn’t say anything about it, and JJ loved him for it.

“Then what is it?” John B asked quietly. He took a slow step back to give JJ some space.

“It’s not...it’s not about what you asked,” JJ said. His eyes scanned the room, looking anywhere but John B. “It’s _why_ you asked.”

“Why...?” John B was silent and then said, “Because my dad was coming home?”

JJ didn’t say anything. His eyes flicked to John B again and he watched in silence as understanding dawned on his friend’s face.

“I’m an idiot,” John B said. He pressed his palms to his face and then let out a muffled groan when he touched the bruised skin.

“Well, yeah,” JJ agreed, trying to crack a joke. “But, John B—listen, it’s not because of your dad. It was just that when he’s home, it means...” He worked his mouth, trying to find the right words, but nothing was coming. 

“It means,” John B picked up JJ’s thread easily, “that you can’t live here with me.”

JJ pressed his lips together, wondering why he was surprised that John B got it, that he understood what JJ was trying to say.

“It means,” John B continued, anger blooming in his words, “you’ve got to go back to your dad.” His jaw clenched and JJ felt his John B’s eyes burn as they flicked up and down his body with renewed focus.

Neither of them wanted to ask or explain what had happened with Luke, but JJ had enough of _not_ talking to John B so he plucked at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, exposing the bare skin of his stomach. It was painted with purple and blue bruises. They were still tender, but they looked worse than they felt. 

“Fuck, man,” John B said, voice strangled.

JJ shrugged and let his shirt drop again.

“You’re not going back there,” John B insisted, heat lining his voice. “Not ever—”

“Bird?”

JJ’s spine stiffened and his heart plummeted down to his feet. He didn’t have to turn around to know that Big John was standing somewhere behind him, probably woken by John B and JJ’s rising voices; they never really learned how to use their inside voices. And despite everything that had led up to this moment, JJ had completely forgotten that Big John was home.

“Dad,” John B said. From the look on his face, John B had forgotten too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Big John shuffled into the edge of JJ’s vision, but he wasn’t looking at JJ, his focus was on his son. “What the hell happened to you?” His voice was suddenly sharp and he sounded like he actually gave a damn.

JJ’s chest hurt.

Bewildered, John B reached up to touch the single bandaid on his face and the bruises around it. “What are you—oh, you mean this. Well, that’s...it’s nothing.”

JJ wanted to smack himself and then John B. How did they ever get away with anything when John B did the talking? He was a terrible liar.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Big John said. He moved to stand in front of John B and took his son’s head in both his hands, turning it to get a better look at the damage done to him by Rafe.

“It is.” John B was sticking to his story, and JJ had to admire him for that at least.

Big John dropped his hands back down to his sides and then rounded on JJ, eyes bright with a sudden anger that JJ didn’t expect.

JJ’s hands twitched at his sides and he couldn’t stop the flinch that flashed across his face. His heart was suddenly beating against his ribcage and he took two rapid steps back, trying to put as much space between himself and the older man.

“Was this you?” Big John demanded. He jabbed a finger over his shoulder to John B.

“Dad, no! Stop,” John B tried to interject, but he was ignored.

“Tell me the truth, JJ Maybank. Did you have anything to do with this?”

JJ tried to make his mouth work, but nothing came out. All he could hear was his pulse pounding in his ears. His flight or fight response seemed to be broken and all he could do was stand there and wait for _it_ to happen.

“He had nothing to do with this!” John B shouted. He shoved his way forward and grabbed Big John’s arm, pulling him away from JJ. “This was some fucking Kooks down by the water—not JJ.”

Big John’s anger flickered and he glanced at his son again, a frown working its way across his face. “Watch your language.”

John B’s eyebrows rose and for a moment he just stared in disbelief at his dad. JJ watched as John B’s chin tilted up and he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s your takeaway from what I just said?” John B finally managed to say with a shake of his head. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, dad, you’ve just never noticed.” John B’s mouth worked, and JJ waited for him to let it all out, to bring up every time that Big John had come home and locked himself in his study, ignoring his son for days, but nothing came out. It seemed that neither of them had much to say to their fathers, or maybe they just couldn’t say what needed to be said; it was too much for them to get out. 

“JJ is spending the night,” John B finally said, breaking eye contact with his dad. He didn’t wait for a response as he shoved past his dad and took JJ’s rigid arm and then propelled them both out of the kitchen and down the hall to John B’s room.

With the door shut between him and Big John, JJ could breathe again and he suddenly sagged against John B. His spine hunched and his legs were tingling, threatening to drop his whole body to the floor without ceremony.

John B’s grip on his arm tightened and he moved them to his unmade bed, helping JJ down onto it. JJ wanted to collapse onto it, but he couldn’t, not just yet. So he forced himself to sit, steadying his swaying body by planting his hands onto the mattress on either side of him. 

For a moment, it was silent, and as JJ studied his friend. He could see that John B finally got _it_.

The hero worship in John B’s eyes had dimmed, like a light bulb popping, and all that was left was a dull and grey sheen. John B could see his father for who he was: a good man, but an obsessed one. The problem was that he was obsessed with a dream and was letting that dream take over his whole life, forgetting the important things in the process.

JJ wished that he could’ve stopped this. No matter how many times he had wanted John B to open his eyes and actually look at his dad, he didn’t really want this for his friend.

John B sank down on the bed next to JJ, eyes fixed on the closed door. “It’s been different this time,” he finally said. His voice was hoarse, like he had been screaming for hours. “He’s actually cared and noticed things. It never occurred to me that...I never realized that it shouldn’t be a surprise. That _this_ was how it’s supposed to be all the time.”

JJ didn’t say anything.

“I thought that...well, I don’t know what I thought.” John B sniffled and he wiped his eyes with one hand. “I must sound like a selfish prick to you. No wonder you were mad at me.”

“Dude, no,” JJ said quickly. “You’re allowed to be—” To be what? Upset, hurt, and scared? “It’s not your fault,” JJ finished and then paused again. “Welcome to the shitty dad club.”

John B let out a choked laugh before flopping down onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes blank. “Fuck this, JJ.”

JJ silently agreed as he laid down next to John B. The position was achingly familiar and he was grateful to know that this wasn’t going away anytime soon, that at least he had this. 

“Me and you,” John B said, still staring up at the cracked paint on his ceiling. “Pope and Kie. That’s all we need.”

JJ nodded and followed John B’s eyes up to the ceiling. He might not have a good dad or a good home, but he had a life worth living when he was with John B and the rest of their crew. He just needed to hold on to that.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back! I really enjoyed writing the first installment and I got some good feedback, so I've decided to keep writing and posting because it's honestly been relaxing writing for this fandom.   
> At this point, this is just going to be a whenever I have ideas/feel like it kind of thing, and the each installment will be loosely tied together with no real overarching plot.   
> Also, the idea for this one shot was sparked by hmalliyah. So thank you for that!   
> Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for a while, mostly because I don't think I have JJ and John B's voice down and because everyone is writing a fic just like this, but I was talking to IceQueen1 and she wanted to read it, so here we are. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, let me know because I've got vague plans to write more about JJ and John B being best buds usually while getting their asses kicked.


End file.
